Origins
by Rohoblance18
Summary: Young Dimitri Roslavik has a harsh life: Bipolar Disorder and ADHD, an abusive father (who wants him dead), and no more money for vodka. Bummer. Follow the life of Dimitri Roslavik as he turns into Jake "Reaper" Ro and tries to forget his past. But some things stay with you forever... This is currently a WIP, but please enjoy and review :)


AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thanks for the continued support on my stories! Thank you guys and I hope you enjoy this new story. Read and review :)

Before I start this, huge thank you to TheClassicFit for editing this! Seriously, thanks :D

**The Clan**

**Moscow, Russia**

**Dimitri Roslavik**

**1 hour before Incident**

I chugged down another bottle and slammed it on the table, screaming at the bartender for more whiskey. He looked at me with concern because he knew that I was only 15. But I was crying and I think he could tell I had problems so he just complied and handed me another bottle. What the fuck was a 15 year old doing at a bar; and furthermore, why the fuck is he drinking whiskey? (Is he talking to himself or the bartender?)

Well, I'll tell you why you little shit!

My dad is an alcoholic who beats the snot out of me, and slaps my mother around, who doesn't do anything but cry whenever he isn't around! My parents are complete cowards and it's taken me 7 years to realize that!

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you, but I think the whiskey is getting to me. The bar was almost empty; only the bartender, two creepy guys, and I remained.

"Hey kid, I think is time for you to go home, yes?", The bartender, who was a little on the chubby side, told me gently. I knew he was trying to help but I just shrugged him off, probably a little too hard. I left a $100 bill since I figured that's probably how much I drank, and stumbled out of the bar, not knowing where the hell I was going. Too bad I didn't notice the two creepy guys following me.

Outside, I lazily threw on my leather jacket and went to look for a cab. I was, overall, in a pretty shitty mood and I'd had a shitty evening, so when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I turned around and screamed "WHAT?!" The price I paid for that was an uppercut to the stomach and a kick to the groin. I was too drunk to feel the real extent of the pain, but it still hurt like hell. I looked up to see who my assailant was, and found myself face to face with the two men from the bar, who revealed themselves to be Mafya guys. I suddenly realized that I was in a situation which probably wouldn't end well anyway I decided to put it. The two guys seemed like two average Russian mobsters: trench coats, brass knuckles, and long hats to cover their faces.

"What do you want from me..?", I said as I shivered in the cold snow.

"It's nothing personal. But your dad wants you dead.", I suddenly remembered that look on my dad's face when I left that morning: disappointment, regret, and disgust. Rage took over, but even that was not enough to hurt the mobsters, with hearts as cold as snow. I put my fist into my palm, remembering what my boxing trainer told me. I threw a punch into the first mobster's cheek and watched as he spit blood into the snow. While I was looking on with satisfaction, the second guy attacked and with a kick to the stomach. Then, he kicked me again three times before I finally caught his leg. I elbowed his hamstring and then flipped him onto his back. Now, you're probably wondering how a 120 pound kid managed to flip a 300 pound man made of sheer muscle. Well, to be honest, I was surprised too. But hey, who was I to complain? As long as it saved me from getting my ass kicked, I had no problems. But that's when things got out of hand. The first guy managed to kick me to the ground. As I tried to recover, he slammed into me, full force, and I landed on my back. The second guy held me down while the first guy started to beat me. My lungs felt like they were gonna explode and I wasn't sure if I would get out of this alive. My doubts were confirmed when one of the men pulled out a revolver and loaded a single bullet.

"A game of faith. Russian roulette, or as we like to call it; roulette.", The second man laughed and I failed to see the humor until he spun the chamber, cocked the hammer, and fired.

"Where.. where am I?", I groaned and checked my surroundings. As I tried to sit up. I quickly fell again when my head started to throb. The pain was just too much. I could just barely lift my head enough to realize that I was covered in blood. My heart skipped a beat when I saw two shadows approaching.

"Are you sure this was where we left him?", The first asked.

"Positive.", The second replied.

"Well, I suppose you're finally right.", I gasped as the two mobsters came in sight. "Looks like our little friend here is awake."

The other mobster grinned. "I suppose you're right. Well, let's give him a little present shall we?"

He pulled a vodka bottle out of his pocket, as well as a lighter. Inside of the bottle was a small piece of rope. It didn't take half a brain to figure out what they were going to do.

"_Da svidanya, suka._ Goodbye!", The mobster laughed as he lit the fuse and threw it in my direction. I knew I should have ran, but I was too weak. As the bottle hit the ground, I realized that I had no regrets, because I tried my best. I barely made it by, but now I lost. I lost the game of life. But I know that when I reach heaven, God will welcome me with open arms. Do your worst, Death. I'm ready.


End file.
